Phase the Fifth: The Woman Pays
39. CHAPTER XXXIX (continued)
Clare could bear this no longer. His eyes were full of
tears, which seemed like drops of molten lead. He bade
a quick goodnight to these sincere and simple souls
whom he loved so well; who knew neither the world, the
flesh, nor the devil in their own hearts; only as
something vague and external to themselves. He went to
his own chamber.
His mother followed him, and tapped at his door.
Clare opened it to discover her standing without, with
anxious eyes.
"Angel," she asked, "is there something wrong that you
do away so soon? I am quite sure you are not
yourself."
"I am not, quite, mother," said he.
"About her? Now, my son, I know it that--I know it is
about her! Have you quarrelled in these three weeks?"
"We have not exactly quarrelled," he said. "But we
have had a difference----"
"Angel--is she a young woman whose history will bear
investigation?"
With a mother's instinct Mrs Clare had put her finger
on the kind of trouble that would cause such a disquiet
as seemed to agitate her son.
"She is spotless!" he replied; and felt that if it had
sent him to eternal hell there and then he would have
told that lie.
"Then never mind the rest. After all, there are few
purer things in nature then an unsullied country maid.
Any crudeness of manner which may offend your more
educated sense at first, will, I am sure, disappear
under the influence or your companionship and tuition."
Such terrible sarcasm of blind magnanimity brought home
to Clare the secondary perception that he had utterly
wrecked his career by this marriage, which had not been
among his early thoughts after the disclosure. True,
on his own account he cared very little about his
career; but he had wished to make it at least a
respectable one on account of his parents and brothers.
And now as he looked into the candle its flame dumbly
expressed to him that it was made to shine on sensible
people, and that it abhorred lighting the face of a
dupe and a failure.
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